


Undiscovered

by forgetmenotjimmy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Forced Marriage, mentions of torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-12
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2017-12-05 03:33:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/718403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forgetmenotjimmy/pseuds/forgetmenotjimmy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry doesn't kill Voldemort, they lose the War. Forced into marriage, Ron finds out that if you can't love a stranger then you can't hate them either and he soon realises that he has more in common with his wife than he originally thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> See End Notes for consent issues

"Do you, Ronald Billibus Weasley, take Pansy Cecilia Parkinson to be your lawfully wedded wife?" No. No. No he fucking didn't. He wanted to refuse, he wanted to shake his head and let go of her hands. He wanted back away, swearing loudly, cursing the whole messed up thing; he longed to stride down the longest aisle he'd ever seen and apparate away into the arms of a live and safe Hermione. To be rocked in her arms, rubbed on the back and told that it's okay, they'll be together forever, they'll be together in a world where they don't have to constantly look over their shoulders, watch their steps or fear the murder of their loved ones. Gulping, he breathed out and muttered.

"Yes." They'd lost the War. They'd got the bastard where they'd wanted him but to no avail. At the last moment the duelling pair had been separated and Harry lost in the crowd as the fighting began again in earnest. Ron had pushed and shoved his way to where he thought his best friend had been flung to but it was impossible to be sure of anything, only that the Death Eaters were winning. In front of him his sister was being restrained next to his mother, his dorm mates being beaten to the ground and the rest of the Order dying one-by-one, he'd ducked and ran and fought hard, reaching Ginny and slashing the ropes holding her to their mother. He'd bent to drag her onto her feet, weak and disorientated as she was, when a spell had caught him in the back of the knees and he'd sunk to the floor with a wordless cry as a spell to the head caused the world to explode in stars before he'd blacked out.

Ron's only comfort was that a lot of undesirables managed to escape, the main four being Harry, Hermione, Fred and George. Well, he had no idea if they'd really escaped or their corpses were among those that had been unidentifiable. The lack of evidence of their deaths was all he needed to believe that they were alive and well, having successfully fled the scene and escaped into safety, to fight another day? He had no idea if there was any plan to try and take down this new regime or even just free some from its grasp. Gods how he hated it. It had been sickening having to swear to serve that ungodly thing, to have to kneel in front of him and chant those empty and grovelling words had been near impossible. If not for the fear for his family he would have spat in that cold face and kicked and screamed his way into welcome death. But alas, he had been denied a quick and honourable end along with his parents, Bill, Percy and Ginny. Poor Ginny. Bill and Percy were married to or about to marry their choice of purebloods -Fleur and Penelope Clearwater- so all they had to endure was the frustrating hypocrisy and prejudice rife in their jobs at Gringotts and the Ministry, but Ginny was being forced to marry Draco Malfoy once she'd finished Hogwarts. It was safe to say that neither looked forward to it, glad that Ginny had been allowed to go back and re-do her final year at Hogwarts to give them more time before their inevitable union.

"Do you Pansy Cecilia Parkinson, take Ronald Billibus Weasley to be your lawfully wedded husband?" No. No she didn't. But throughout the majority of her young life, Pansy had found herself without a choice; she'd known this day was coming. She'd been sternly informed of her destiny as long as she could remember. Just that no one had told her it would be with a filthy blood traitor and a fucking Weasley to boot. There was one pride saver in the union, however, the fact that she had been chosen to marry the best friend of the enemy, an enemy turned and tamed, almost a trophy husband. Although he had been tortured for information soon after the Battle of Hogwarts, he had been pardoned by the Dark Lord on the condition that he become a model citizen, marry a nice pureblood girl and denounce Undesirable Number One. He had fulfilled these conditions, though from what she knew of him from their time at Hogwarts Pansy knew that his decision had been heavily influenced by the hold the New Ministry had over his family, his sister being particularly vulnerable. In a way, Pansy had a similar motivation; had she been completely against the idea of forced marriage, she'd still have her parent's reputations and even lives to consider. In any case, she had no choice and her lengthy gulp was only prolonging her descent into misery. Sniffing ever so slightly she nodded and whispered.

"Yes." The enemies of the Dark Lord were all but gone, mudbloods having already disappeared underground or been imprisoned by the Ministry and members of the Order fled or forced to swear allegiance to Voldemort. He was setting up a new society with the emphasis on increasing the pureblood population whilst eradicating all 'poisons' diluting the blood, including mudbloods, werewolves, goblins and giants amongst others. It was like he was starting a Second War, this time against the whole magical population. Pansy shared a dislike of such 'impurities', but at the same time she didn't condone the needless eradication of them, a view that she was sure a lot of people secretly shared.

"You may kiss the bride." The couple was suddenly brought back into the present. Feeling everyone's eyes on them, Ron looked at Pansy and she shrugged slightly; sighing, he leaned in and pecked her on the lips. There was a polite applause and he swallowed down bile, avoiding looking anyone in the eye as they walked back down the aisle. Once at the end they stepped through some French windows and that led to the dining hall of their new house. Technically it was an old house, having originally belonged to the Black family but it had been abandoned in favour of their town house at Grimmauld Place; the New Ministry had bought up all the old abandoned estates and assigning them to the new couples they'd ordered to marry. So Ron and Pansy had received a newly rebuilt mansion and spacious grounds to live out their ordeal. They'd seen it briefly before the wedding so as they settled down in their seats at the middle of the table they looked around the room, studying it and avoiding looking at each other. Slowly, other guests started trickling into the room, talking quietly and with decorum; what Ron would do for the twins to cause havoc and ruin all the careful plans, how Pansy wished her daft friends could have accompanied her on the Head table so at least she could have chatted idly and semi-happily.

The dinner passed too fast, all the new husband could remember was a whirl of food and faces, some smiling, others tear-filled, all passing too fleetingly. Pansy's mother harping on about something frivolous, his father making forced conversation with the Parkinson grandparents and his mother… His mother's quiet and red-eyed presence briefly appearing and then disappearing into the crowd, strained words of congratulations and good luck amongst the babble of noise. There was elegant music and stumbling, he just managed not to step on his new bride's toes as they turned about the dance floor. Still they refused to look each other in the eye or say anything other than a polite and empty comment or request as people began to join in, a crowd of bodies milling around them. A few too-weak drinks later and suddenly everyone was leaving and then he was pushed into a large and luxurious bedroom, a richly dressed four-poster bed in the centre of the far wall, a dressing table and two fat wardrobes hugging the opposite walls not quite filling the dark red carpeted floor. It was hot and stuffy and neither moved. All of a sudden, they were very alone; Ron's stomach squeezed uncomfortably and he regretted not drinking more. Twisting her mouth as she crossed her arms almost angrily Pansy spat out, not looking at him.

"You're not getting any tonight." Hands in his pockets, he lifted his shoulders, feeling even more uncomfortable now without the presence of his family.

"Well, we have to…"

"Wow, that's so sexy." He looked at her, really looked at her; he saw through her tough act and realised that she was just as nervous as he was, just as angry and scared and bitter. They were the same in this and she knew just as well as he did that they had to consummate their marriage that night, it was part of the Marriage Ritual, there was no room for argument. He knew that the longer they fought it the harder it would be on them, the more painful on her. He didn't like her, but he didn't want to hurt her either. He pulled his hands out of his pockets and said softly.

"You want me to seduce you?"

"Seduce me? You couldn't seduce a-" He took a step forward and suddenly they were inches apart, his big eyes blazing. Underneath everything she was just a woman and Lavender, thank the Gods, had taught him much about pleasing a woman.

Breathless in the face of this change of tone, the intensity of his gaze froze her in place, mouth open a little. Gently, he dragged his fingertips across her neck and down her shoulder to her hand, taking it in his own he pulled it up to his lips. He was gentler than she ever could have imagined and yet there was a fire in his eyes. Captivated, she just watched him almost blankly as he slowly kissed his way back up her arm, shoulder, neck and then along her jaw to the corner of her mouth, feeling every soft kiss. Eyes closing, she felt him miss her mouth and kiss the other side of it and down her jaw and neck; despite herself, she felt a twinge of disappointment being denied that contact. Part of her wanted to snatch her arm away and slap him, berating him with snarled insults and derisive laughter, but in the end, she knew that she had to go through with it anyway and so tried to relax into the moment. When he reached her other hand and placed a gentle kiss on it, she dragged her eyes open and linked fingers with him, bravely stepping back towards the bed. As they went he unclasped her veil and she undid his bow tie, he laid the veil on the bedside table and she dropped his tie to the floor, her eyes sparkling. Carefully, without touching her, Ron reached his arms around to slowly unzip the long dress, looking deep into the eyes all the while. Shivering at the small distance and the intensity of his gaze, she forget everything and soon found herself itching to be touched, and had to supress a whimper as he stepped away. Gulping she pulled the now loose dress down and stepped out of it straight back into the warmth that seemed to radiate off his body. A body she was suddenly eager to see. Now breathless himself, her heaving breasts making his mouth water, Ron reached around her again, a fingertip trailing down her spine whilst his other hand gently squeezed her pert behind. Gasping, she responded by running one hand through his fiery locks and using the other to pull at his shirt. Together they worked it off and she ran her hands up and down his muscular back, shivering with lust until her fingers felt a rough line snaking across the skin of his back. Trying not to let on she'd felt it, she moved her hands away from it to only encounter similar rough lines in seemingly random places; through the thrill of his soft touches down her own back she suddenly realised that they were scars, possibly for Sectumsempra. She'd known he'd been tortured; she just hadn't really registered exactly what that meant. Of course he'd have scars, of course it had actually…it had really happened to this living being she was eternally tied to. With this horrible realisation she didn't notice his hands stop and only noticed until he moved back a bit to look at her face. Glancing at his expression it was obvious he suspected what she was thinking of and for a moment they were trapped in each other's eyes; hers were soft and questioning whilst his were clouded and almost unreadable. Pushing dark thoughts out of her head, she pulled him closer as he nudged her feet apart, noticeably trying to make himself relax; he lifted her up and instinctively she wrapped her legs around his waist and he walked over to the bed, both of them still exploring each other with soft touches.

Lowering onto the four-poster bed, they never broke eye-contact. Eyes still smouldering he rolled down her stockings, trailing his fingertips down the insides of her legs and taking off her shoes. Crawling on top of her he trailed his fingertips up her sides and to her shoulders, pulling her bra straps down with an aching slowness. As moved his hands past her stomach and round her back to undo her bra she lifted herself up a bit to help him and one of her legs brushed his cock. Feeling his hardness against her body unnerved her and she froze, feeling him undo the strap and taking off her bra. Despite her confident façade and reputation as easy, she'd never had sex before, never really gone beyond making out and his erection just brought her fears and uncertainty back to her. The hopelessness of her situation struck her again and unable to run away and hide she squeezed her eyes shut. Ron paused as he felt her tense and pulled back to look at her face.

"Hey," Holding her chin gingerly he waited until she blinked her eyes open and forced herself to look at him. Shamed by the tears struggling to escape her lashes, she avoided his gaze and focused on the bed hangings behind him. He thought for a moment, guilt and anger pooling in his stomach at what they were being forced to do, what he was being forced to do. Hermione. Oh Gods, Hermione, what am I doing? He stroked her cheek once and rolled to the side, propping himself up on one elbow on her left side so their bodies weren't touching. She hadn't seemed to notice, still paralysed in anxiety and he wished that he could stop and just hold her until she fell asleep. Brown curly hair filled his vision and warm brown eyes pleading with him, no. He gulped and instead remembered Lavender's purring echoing in his head and still with his weight on his elbow beside her, reaching over and gently massaged one of her breasts, Pansy bit her lip but didn't relax until he brushed his thumb over her nipple and she gasped. Ever so slowly he squeezed and massaged her breasts, then dipped his head and teased them with his tongue causing her to release some tension through groans growing in volume; he waited until she grabbed his hair, pulling at his roots slightly before he wondered one hand down to her wet warmth, firmly pressing his palm against it. That made her writhe slightly and so he fingered her a bit through the thin fabric of her knickers before shifting himself down, careful to avoid brushing against her. The feeling of her knickers being removed made her gasp and she forgot all about her worries as his fingers explored her, circling and then lightly pinching her clit; when he used his tongue she thought she'd explode in a flash of light and ecstasy. And soon she was coming, squealing and shaking with such force he had to rear his head up to avoid being hit by her sweating body.

When she'd recovered her senses she felt that he was lying next to her and reluctantly turned her head to meet his gaze. Before he could say anything she breathed in and set her jaw, nodding curtly, determination in her eyes; nodding himself, eyes promising gentleness Ron lifted himself up and began kissing her neck sweetly, massaging her breasts hard again as he positioned himself. As she arched her back in pleasure he found her entrance and biting his lip thrust himself fully in. She gasped in pain, face scrunching up, eyes squeezing and fingernails digging sharply into his arms and shoulders. Bending down his mouth to her ear Ron murmured reassurances to her, a free hand stroking her hair as the hand supporting him fisted the sheets, whole arm trembling with the effort to hold up his weight and jaw tight trying to control himself. It was good that he wasn't a virgin, remembering when Lavender had allowed him to enter her for the first time he almost blushed, how young and innocent he'd been, losing control and lasting barely two minutes. She was so warm and tight, tighter than Lavender had been; he could feel her trembling with his cock and he struggled not to spook her with the groans threatening to claw up his throat. Gulping and breathy, she eventually hummed for him to continue and now massaging a breast he continued as slowly and gently as he could. For the next few minutes, he resisted his urge to speed up and push harder and gradually her hisses turned into moans. Satisfied she was starting to feel the pleasure over the pain, he started building a faster rhythm, kissing her neck and rubbing his thumb over a hard nipple. Eyes almost rolling back with intense pleasure, he completely lost all coherent thought, barely holding on to the dirty talk fighting to spill from his lips; he tried to look at her face, tried to concentrate on her expression, to make sure she was as okay as she could be and also so he couldn't forget, so he couldn't trick himself. Pansy was moaning breathlessly now, getting louder each time, she'd never felt this kind of deep pleasure before. She'd made out with people yes but this? Never. Closing her eyes, she let herself be overwhelmed by the fire spreading underneath her skin, sparks crackling up and down her spine and her limbs shaking with the power of it. Ron saw her let herself go and a small ray of spiritual pleasure cut through the overhanging cloud of doubt. The pressure building in his abdomen now near unbearable, he quickly thumbed her clit again and they came together, shaking and moaning loudly, united for the first time in their pleasure.

Sated and exhausted, he rolled off and collapsed next to her. Weakly, she reached down and pulled her knickers back on, swallowing and licking her lips whilst recovering her breath, Pansy tried to think of something cold and witty to say but soon gave up. Mirroring her move of half-modesty, Ron replaced his boxers, extracted his wand from the heap of his trousers and cleaned them both; then he carefully extracted the covers from under them, placing them over her gently.

In that moment her walls crashed to the ground and she sobbed, relief that the ordeal was over, happiness in having had some pleasure and the feeling of being cared for all dragging streams of tears from her eyes. Her husband pulled her into a warm hug and momentarily overlooking the bitterness and injustice she felt towards the whole thing and by extension the man now cradling her, she held onto him tightly and desperately. Finally able to comfort her the way he had wanted to, Ron blinked rapidly as his own tears fought to pour into the warm night air. Feeling her trembling in his embrace he tried not to think about the rest of their lives, relieved to have at least completed the obligatory part of the ceremony. Now that he was here in his new home with his new wife, it didn't seem too bad, especially as he could see the humanity through her cold and snooty façade. But still, as he closed his eyes the face of his secret love blossomed into his head, her soft brown eyes quivering with hurt and betrayal. _It's not my fault. Please don't judge me._ It was his turn to silently plead to her. _I still love you._ Now in darkness, it was easy to pretend that the soft body beside his was really hers and that everything was how he'd always imagined. Slowly, the couple stopped cursing their Fate, wondering nervously how the rest of their lives would play out and fell into comforting sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meals, silence, awkward topics and a question is answered.

When she woke the next morning, Pansy Weasley took a moment to recognise the strange bed she was in. Sitting up groggily, her half-nakedness reminded her instantly of her situation and she gulped down the bad taste in her mouth. Pulling up the covers up to her chest she shivered as she realised that the warm body from yesterday was gone. Pricking her ears, she could faintly hear noises coming from the rest of the house but for now, she was alone. She paused for a moment before getting out of bed and getting dressed. Recalling the wedding and the previous night, she felt a wave of emotions engulf her, clashing against each other as she gulped again. It was official, she was a Weasley; a house-bound wife to a Weasley. This was her life now. Blinking, she dragged her mind from the veil of sadness to consider that some of her memories had shed some light on the character of her new husband. He was gentle and respectful, definitely caring some amount about her, even if he didn’t like her, he’d tried not to hurt her. But without him she felt cold, and was disinclined to consider the care and warmth of the previous night as real but as a dream. It was separate from the harsh reality of her situation and so as she rose, she put her battle face on.

Ron sat in the dining room wondering if he should wake his new wife or let her sleep; it was almost ten and he was sure their house elves had other things to do than cook. Talking a bit to them this morning almost disappointed him, their personalities not matching up to that of Dobby; they were polite and professional, responding with confusion and without appreciation to his unnecessary kindnesses. When he’d woken up he’d been a bit surprised to have a body in his arms and he’d reared back gently before recognising her and everything had come flooding back. He couldn’t see her face from under her strands of hair but knew her to still be asleep judging by her slow and deep breaths. It was warm if a bit surreal. Never had he thought he would end up holding Pansy Parkinson in bed, let alone married to her. Oh Gods, this was the rest of his life. Pulled out of his thoughts by Nature’s call, he shifted slowly out from under her and tiptoed to their en-suite. It was about the same size as the bathroom at the Burrow and an uncontrollable wave of memories rushed through his tired eyes: giving a reluctant Ginny baths, the twins bothering him and trying to make him laugh as he brushed his teeth, his mother scowling at the mess he and his brothers had made with the different hair products and his father, a glint in his eye as he taught him how to shave. Gulping, he pushed his rising emotions down and gritted his teeth as he went about his business in the shining room. For the first time in his life he was living in luxury, and he hated it. He desperately missed the cramped, over-flowing rooms of the Burrow; the delicious smells and friendly yelling, dusty warmth and comforting arms, ready to embrace him. When he returned to the bedroom, his new wife had shifted and he couldn’t get back in bed, too awake and too guilty. Finding all of his newly acquired wardrobe carefully ordered by occasion, his mother-in-law’s voice rang in his head “you are a pureblood, you must dress like one”, he’d sighed softly and dressed quietly before leaving tentatively.

He heard footsteps and braced himself for his new wife’s entrance, not knowing how she’d act or how he’d react. The door opened and she swept in, her guard up, eyes cold and expression haughty. He sighed, so they were back to square one. She sat down stiffly opposite him, probably out of training rather than wanting to look at him and murmured something which could have meant anything. Well, at least he knew how to deal with this Pansy. He cleared his throat and offered a weak good morning to which she made the briefest second of eye contact with before busying herself with breakfast. They didn’t exchange many words, both awkward and not wanting to talk about anything, everything too painful; a Daily Prophet had been placed on the table but Ron hadn’t found the courage to open it, the front page alone making him feel queasy. Pansy avoided looking at anything but her plate and occasionally the window, longing just visible underneath her ice mask.

…

That first week of their marriage was awkward to say the least. Ron hadn’t started his new job yet, technically they were on their honeymoon, and suspected it best to avoid public places for the time being, Pansy wasn’t allowed to have a job anyway, and didn’t particularly want to find out what changes had been made to familiar places, so both of them avoided each other within the house. After that first breakfast they ate separately, or if they accidentally walked in whilst the other was still in the dining room, an awkward silence would accompany them. Whilst the pair was caught up in their personal hells, upset, angry and occupied with feeling the weight of their new rings on their fingers; half the time they just didn’t know what to say to each other. The house was reasonably sized with a few guest bedrooms, lavish garden, and many function rooms. Pansy spent most of her time in the sunny conservatory, reading and writing letters to her friends whilst sipping tea and hearing her mother’s lessons on being a good wife echo in her head. Ron would wonder aimlessly through the halls, tossing a Quaffle up and down, or hide in the library and read random passages from the books.

Despite the plethora of bedrooms and their daytime separation, the couple slept in the same bed every night without fail; partly because they knew that eventually they would have to produce an heir and it seemed better to get used to each other in bed, and also because underneath their disdain for each other and their marriage, they were both extremely lonely. Every night, before he blew out the light, the husband would glance at the wife. She always ignored the subtle invitation, lying stiffly until sleep took pity on them.

…

They spent the weekend after their wedding with their families, Saturday tea with Mrs Parkinson and her fiancé and Sunday lunch with Mr and Mrs Weasley. After spending a long week in isolation with other each other’s stiff company, the change of scenery was welcome but also daunting. Their quiet home was protected from the outside world and though stifled and anxious there, neither husband nor wife was eager to see what the new regime had brought to the world they’d grown up in.

Pansy’s mother and new fiancé lived in a small but well-furnished town house in one of the Magic sides of a small town south of London. The Parkinson family was past it’s prime, only Pansy and her mother left of a proud pureblood ancestry. Ron and Pansy were ushered in to a lavishly decorated sitting room and were served tea and scones. After half an hour, Ron considered grabbing the little teaspoon on his saucer and gauging his eyes out with it.

It wasn’t that he disliked his mother-in-law, although she was snobbish and indelicate, she was mostly harmless. Fat and squat, please let that not be her daughter’s future too, she blathered on about minor squabbles and petty gossip of her social circle. Only cursory mentions of the New Regime could be glimpsed through the inane chatter and Ron wasn’t sure if he was irritated or glad of that. Though the hints of ‘little bundles of joy’ were definitely grating and uncomfortable. Pansy seemed to love her, in a restrained, obliging way, as she mostly paid attention to the inane things she was saying, twisting her ring around her finger distractedly. Like her daughter, Mrs Parkinson didn’t share the New Ministry’s extremist views but that didn’t make them on the same side. The new addition to the Parkinson family noted that Pansy had grown up with this windbag of a mother and so was probably used to it. In all, Ron just found her boring. Her fiancé, Mr Pogue, was also relatively toothless. Though disturbingly, he vaguely reminded the newly-wed of his own father. Just in the mannerisms and nervous twitch when he said something worthy of a glare from his wife-to-be. Their wedding was scheduled for the next month, so naturally a lot of the conversation circled around that. After almost suffocating under a wave of boredom and unease, Ron found himself drifting off, staring blankly at the tablecloth and missing his new wife’s occasional glances his way.

…

Pansy was as apathetic towards her husband’s parents as he was to her mother. Whilst she crinkled her nose at the shabby furnishings and cluttered décor of the Weasley home, in truth she felt no true distaste for it. They did not act as purebloods should, according to her upbringing. But she had always seen through to the emptiness of such prejudice and snobbery and been unimpressed with it. On a personal level she just didn’t care about accepting or rejecting any opinion on what purebloods should do. But she would pretend for everyone’s sake. All things considering, Pansy secretly thought that they were surprisingly hospitable. Of course there were the awkward moments and the slivers of resentment snaking through the polite if stilted conversation, on both sides. But then again, you could hardly judge that too harshly coming from a couple who had lost the majority of their children to the unknown. Mrs Weasley was clearly bearing the brunt of that knowledge. She wasn’t meant to know, but the new daughter-in-law had seen orders for all sorts of potions to be made for her mother-in-law, courtesy of her son’s new wealth. It wasn’t snooping if it was her husband’s papers she was rifling through. Anyway, it would be obvious even if you didn’t already know; the tired, haggard quality to that rosy face spoke volumes. Pansy delicately did not draw attention to that observation.

Of course the Muggle Department at the Ministry had been shut down, so Mr Weasley had lost his job. It was unclear to Pansy what exactly he was doing now, though she gathered it was some kind of house arrest scenario and she could tell without asking that her husband was secretly glad of his father’s confinement. She agreed, his family home was probably the safest place for him, if there was indeed still safety in England. The worst, perhaps, was the obviousness of this move; this way, his bloodtraitor ways could be acknowledged without the marriages of his children being undermined. It was all very calculated and all very cruel underneath the meaningless masks. But the new wife was used to such behaviour, having been brought up with it, so did not think to have an emotion over it. Instead, she watched her husband interact with his parents. His love and concern for them was so plain that it intrigued her. She loved her mother and knew she was loved in return, but had been raised with the idea that only a certain level of affection should be shown, especially to the outside world. There was no such restraint in her husband, and she found to her surprise that she liked that about him.

That same night, before he blew out the last candle on his bedside table, Ron glanced at his wife, as he always did. Pansy blinked at him, he turned, blew it out and as their eyes grew accustomed to the dark, she reached over and slid her hand against his cheek. He startled a little, but stayed still as she rubbed her finger over the soft skin there, almost as if studying his face.

Ron didn’t know whether it was the heavy hints her mother had laid down earlier, or something else, but that night was the first time she answered his habitual question with searing kisses and bold fingers.

**Author's Note:**

> Neither party is willing but they both accept the necessity of consummating their marriage (ancient rituals etc) so am calling this dub-con.


End file.
